Retribution (An Assassin's Creed III story)

Twenty Six: Take Me to Church

The Caribbean, March 1778

Haytham

The last I saw the Aquila, she was little more than a heap of wood and canvas, sitting in her own devastation. One would have thought that after surviving such wreckage, inflicted by the Royal Navy herself, the Aquila would be reduced to a wooden tub barely able to stay afloat.

But Connor and his friends have done a most impressive job in restoring her—none of this I particularly care to mention. Not to Connor, nor his tippler first mate Robert Faulkner, nor the O'Brien girl, who seems to be permanently scowling at me. Unlike Connor, whose build and strength fill out the frame of a man, the Assassin girl strikes me as, well, a girl. Far too feisty to be a lady, yet too emotional on the battlefield. And yet she does her best to appear stoic. Even now, leaning alone against the taffrail, she holds her head high, spine straight. A bloody waste of time, if you ask me.

"Where's Connor?" I ask, my voice as greasy as I can manage. Goading her has become one of my very few pastimes on this ship. "Has he grown tired of trailing after you like a lost puppy?"

As expected, my quip has little effect on her, though the words are partly in truth. Ever since she showed up, Connor has had eyes for no one but O'Brien.

"And why are you looking for him?" she retorts evenly. "To beg his forgiveness over your sins?" The girl has more bite than Connor himself. I suppose that's why she fascinates him.

"It does not do to dwell on dreams, O'Brien."

"And what are your dreams?" she hisses. "To kill him? To tear apart all that he's worked for?"

O'Brien is an idiot. I don't have to dream of killing Connor, I can do it this very instant.

So why haven't I?

Why, indeed. I have let my son live not just on one occasion, but many, even though he is an Assassin—everything I sought to destroy. Am I growing soft? Sentimental? A sliver of the old Haytham Kenway—the one who dreamed he could one day unite Order and Brotherhood—threatens to resurface, and I push it down viciously.

"A cessation of wars." I say simply, careful to sound flippant. "A world without bloodshed."

She scoffs loudly at that. We both know it is impossible. It's the only thing we can agree on. "It does not do to dwell on dreams, Kenway."

I smirk in response. "Am I to understand that you've adopted feelings for my son?"

"A little late to show paternal concern now, don't you think?" she sneers coldly. It's become a daily routine: I tease her about Connor, and she retaliates with my poor parenting. Mostly so that the boredom doesn't drive us both mad.

"Personally, I don't see why he's taken such an interest in you," I drawl. Sure, the girl is not unfortunate-looking. Though second to Connor, she has her fair share of skill. But there's always been a rough edge to her. Sharpness. I suppose Connor fancies girls like that.

"Personally, I don't care what you think." She turns to leave, taking with her my only form of entertainment on this schooner.

"You didn't kill Shay, did you?" My words have the desired effect, and she whirls around sharply. From her conversations with Connor, I learned that she sailed for France to hunt Shay Cormac, one of the Templars I've worked with. I remember Liam O'Brien, Achilles' loyal lapdog, whose life was ended by Shay the same day the Assassins were ruined. Years later, his daughter failed to avenge her father. The topic serves as an excellent taunt.

"I know what satisfied vengeance looks like, and I do not see it in you."

"And you were the one who cut Connor down from the gallows," she counters, not falling for my bait. I can tell she's been sitting on this piece of information for a while, but kept it from Connor. She understands that it will only plant unnecessary doubt in him. She doesn't mind using it against me, though.